Maelstrom
by half agony and hope
Summary: "'The whole point of this arrangement was to keep you from leaving your life behind,' he says, frustrated. 'Then we failed,' she notes, 'because every time we part, that's exactly what happens.'" Jane and Lisbon make a desperate decision. Fifth in the "In Case" series.


**AN: It has truly been far too long since I've written an installment of the _In Case_ series. Sorry for the delay, but hopefully this story will make up for it. The series is not yet finished, so no worries - I'm planning on adding to it indefinitely as long as I have stories to tell.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

* * *

Maelstrom

Jane is not there to greet her when she arrives.

This frightens her more than she cares to admit.

It has been eighty-three days since she's spoken to him, since he had suggested meeting on the island paradise of Samoa. Eighty-three days since they'd parted in Morocco.

A lot can change in eighty-three days, Lisbon thinks.

She sets her duffel bag down in the small thatched cabana, vaguely hoping that the threatening clouds overhead hold in the storm. Though the cabana is completely enclosed, the thatchwork looks anything but sturdy, and she doesn't want to push her luck.

A minute later, Lisbon cannot bear to remain inside the hut. The queen-sized bed seems far too empty without Jane lying upon it, and she quickly peels off the cardigan and jeans that she wore on the plane in favor of a lighter sundress. As she storms out of the cabana the skirt billows behind her, as though her anxiety has created a maelstrom that surrounds her, encompasses her, consumes her.

She nearly sprints down the beach, ignoring the leafy palms on her left and the brilliant cyan sea on her right. Instead, she concentrates on the sand underneath her feet. It burns the skin there, its heat a vestige of the sun from this morning.

But the sun has disappeared since then. Strangely, the ocean appears even more blue without it, contrasting against the darkening skies and the charcoal clouds approaching. Lisbon sighs.

She should have known better.

No matter how fast she runs, no matter how hard she tries, she can never outrun the storm.

But where the hell is Jane?

She thinks of his promise to meet her here. He would never break such a promise. So what has happened in the eighty-three days she hasn't seen him to prevent them from meeting?

Lisbon trips over the sand and nearly tumbles to the ground. She can't help herself from thinking the worst.

 _He's dead._

She shakes herself. She's being stupid. He is merely an hour late—he is _not_ dead. He is certainly not dead.

Lisbon whips herself around to face the sea, her hair flying in nearly every direction as the winds pick up.

She can't take this anymore—she can't take the uncertainty. She can't handle not knowing where her husband is. She can't live with not knowing if he's even _alive_.

As if in a trance, she takes a step forward, towards the sea. And another.

Another.

She is ankle-deep now, and the bottom of her dress is soaked through. Another few steps, and the water is up to her knees.

She stops.

Going any deeper would be foolish, she thinks, with the threatening skies and the crashing waves.

And yet, she is already in too deep.

Two things happen simultaneously: lightning rips open the sky, and a voice shouts her name from across the beach.

She turns around as the thunder booms.

And there he is.

Jane is running towards her, kicking up sand behind him. And suddenly, Lisbon can't move.

He crashes into the water in front of her and then crashes her against him.

He only breaks the kiss when another round of lighting dances across the sky. His eyes are wild as he takes her hand and pulls her out of the water.

" _Teresa!_ " he nearly yells, and she is not frozen anymore.

She grips his hand tighter, and he pulls her after him, urging her to run faster, _faster_.

The thunder cracks again just as they cross over the threshold of the cabana, and he slams the door shut behind her.

"What the hell, Lisbon?" he asks, glaring at her. "What were you thinking?"

Her eyes fill with tears. She folds into him willingly, nearly a foot shorter than him without her usual heels.

"I wasn't," she admits, mumbling into his chest. "I'm sorry—I just wasn't thinking."

He pulls back slightly, startled, realizing that something else is going on.

" _Hey_ ," he whispers, grabbing her face with his hands. He brushes her windswept hair out of her eyes. "Lisbon…Teresa, what's wrong? Is everything alright?"

Lisbon takes several deep breaths to calm herself. "You weren't here when I arrived," she whispers.

"My flight was delayed," Jane says immediately.

"I didn't know that! I thought you were dead!"

The words are out before she can think twice. But she is still frightened, still scared, and he deserves to know _why._

Instead of answering her, he pulls her towards him and proceeds to show her how very much alive they both are.

* * *

After, she shakes in his arms and they listen to the sound of the storm pounding down around them. The cabana creaks but doesn't give.

Jane shifts her so that she is lying on his chest. "You can't do this anymore, can you?" he says.

A tear almost slips from her eye. "There's no other option."

"That's not an answer," he points out gently.

"No," she says. "I can't. But I have to, so I will."

His voice is rough. "This isn't how a marriage is supposed to be, Lisbon. We can't be in two separate countries for most of our lives."

She looks at him, wary. "What are you saying? Are you…" She can't finish the thought. Her trembling intensifies. He can't be suggesting that they end their relationship. _He can't._

"No!" he says immediately, and his arms squeeze her tighter. " _No_ ," he says more forcefully. "What I'm saying is…I'll come back."

It is her turn to protest. "Absolutely not. You'll be thrown in jail and tried for murder. They might _kill_ you, Jane."

He looks at her sadly. "But this is killing _you_ ," he says softly. "And I can't bear to watch it any longer."

She shakes her head. "I'm fine. Really, I am."

"Oh, yeah? So what was earlier about then? You looked nearly ready to toss yourself into the ocean."

She doesn't have an answer for him. Not a good one, at least.

"I wasn't," she says. "I promise. I was just…overwhelmed and breaking down, and something about the water stopped me from losing control. It was trancelike, almost."

He kisses her forehead. "I believe you. You just had me scared for a minute."

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

They are silent for a long while, and then Jane grabs her left hand to examine the ring he placed there many months ago.

"Something has to change," he admits. "You're unwilling to let me come back—"

"I will not let you live out the rest of your life in jail for me."

"But you would be able to see me! I'd be there for you if you needed me, unlike how our situation is now."

"This is not a negotiable point, Patrick!"

Her use of his first name causes his argument to die on his lips.

"Regardless, something still needs to change." He sighs. "When I suggested this arrangement, Teresa, I didn't expect it to be permanent. I thought it would last a few months tops. But every plan I think of to get me back home to you inevitably ends up with me in jail."

Of course, she thinks. The moment she most needs Jane's ingenuity, his cunning, his scheming, is the moment these things fail him.

Of course.

"One year," she says.

"What?"

"You have one year to figure out a plan to get yourself back as a free man. If you can't work one out in that time, I come to you—and I _stay_ with you."

"Lisbon…"

"You said it yourself, Jane—I won't let you throw yourself in jail, and neither of us can live with the situation as it is now."

His fists clench. "The whole point of this was to keep you from leaving your life behind!" he says, frustrated.

"Then we failed," she notes, "because every time we part, that's exactly what happens."

Her words are heavy, sinking down around them, pulling them under.

" _Please_ , Jane," she pleads. "I'm trying to compromise here. I'm giving you a chance to figure it out. I just want us to get our happily ever after. I don't care where we are or who we're with. I just want to be with _you_."

He's crying, she realizes as she takes in his face and his frustration. He can't deny her anything when she pleads with him, but he can't live with himself for putting her in a position where she must sacrifice everything.

"You're going to win, you know," he says. "There's no way I'm going to be able to get myself home in a year. You're going to lose everything."

"Maybe."

"You're going to resent me. Thirty, forty years from now, when your brothers' kids have kids, when you disappear from all the family reunions—you're going to _hate_ me. You're going to miss so much."

"I'm already missing too much of my husband," she says.

She shifts, so that she is hovering above him, and she kisses the tears on his face.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he asks, and his voice breaks. "Why are you making me hurt you?"

Lisbon doesn't deny it, and she can tell he is grateful. "Because I love you," she says.

"You love me too much," he says, his fingers shaking as they trace the outlines of her ribs under her skin. He switches their positions, so that now he is hovering over her.

"Not possible," says Lisbon, and she strokes his cheek. "Come on, Jane. Let's forget about this for a while. You never know what will happen in a year—maybe you'll figure out how to win after all." He leans on his forearms, framing her body below him. "Let's focus on the future. Whatever happens, in one year we will be together. And that should be all that matters."

A minute passes, but he finally nods, and the agreement between them is final.

"I love you," he says hoarsely.

She tells him to prove it, and he does.


End file.
